


i'll do whatever it takes (i've made a million mistakes)

by tinybox



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canonical Character Death, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-03-17 15:05:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18967684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinybox/pseuds/tinybox
Summary: A lost boy wakes up in the streets of Mexico City.





	1. prologue

The sound of a train whistle wakes the boy up from a fitful sleep. He is lying on the ground, hands and knees covered in dust, and when he stands he realizes that the only thing he is wearing is an oversized white shirt that droops to the ground. 

There's a familiar panic rising in his chest, because it's dark and he's  _alone_ and everything is unfamiliar and he can't remember how he got here in the first place, can't even remember his own  _name_. 

He looks down at his hands, and for some reason they look unfamiliar, but in a distant way that doesn't really matter as much as finding someone,  _anyone_ , to help him. 

The idea of staying in one spot is okay, since he's underneath a streetlight. But what if a terrible monster is lurking behind his back every time he turns?

_Monsters aren't real._

But right now, he knows the truth, that monsters do exist, and if he stays here, some terrible thing will happen to him and he'll never go home.

Wherever home is. 

The train station is so close, but there is a long gap of darkness between him and the station. Before he can change his mind, he charges at full speed towards the station, gasping and panting, but finally makes it safely onto the steps. 

Standing in the brightly lit station, he feels a bit foolish, but mostly uneasy. The station looks deserted, save for a fat conductor reading a newspaper at his station. Hope brewing in his chest, the boy nervously walks toward the conductor. 

"Excuse me?" he asks in his most polite voice. The conductor jerks upright, mutters a string of curse words, and leans forward, looking at him with a fierce scowl. 

"Excuse me, I need to get on the train. I need to go home."

"Yeah?" the conductor scoffs, looking him up and down. "I doubt you have a ticket, and even if you did, the last train just left. Now leave me alone."

"But, sir, I-"

"I don't care. Get out of my station before I call the police."

"But I need to get home! I promised!" he begs, staring the conductor straight in the eyes pleadingly. "I promised I would come home! Please, you have to let me get on the next train! I won't get in the way, I promise!"

There's a hint of pity in the conductor's voice when he says, "Look, kid. Come back tomorrow with the right amount of money, and I'll let you on. But if you don't leave right now, I'll get the police to arrest you for trespassing. So get lost."


	2. a city of angels (a city of men)

He has no money, and the only clothes he is wearing is a shirt that is way too big for him. But now he has a goal. He needs a train ticket, so he will buy one. Simple as that. 

The next day, however, he realizes his plan has a few holes in it. 

"Excuse me  _señora_ , can I borrow some change?" he asks, tugging on a woman's coat sleeve. The woman looks down at him like one would a cockroach, shaking her arm free with a disgusted look.

"Get away from me!"

 

He tries this tactic with several people walking the city streets, and ends up having  a bruised apple lobbed at his face. Jokes on them, because the apple ended up tasting pretty good.

"Excuse me, may I have just a few coins? I need them to-"

"Get out of my store, lousy rat! I ain't having you scaring paying customers!" 

Hector looks around the empty butcher shop. "But, sir, there's no one else here!"

The butcher leans over the counter and scowls. "That's exactly my point! Now git out before I throw you out!"

"I just need a few coins to get home!"

"Yeah, right. And I'm a magical princess. Save your sob story for someone else."

The boy widens his eyes, pouts in a way he hopes is adorably convincing. "Please, sir. I have no one else to turn to. My family needs me-"

Before he can say anything else, he's grabbed by the arm and booted out of the store without a single word.

"Fine!" he yells mulishly. "I don't need your stupid money, anyway!"

"Good for you! Now get off my property!"

The boy leaves, grumbling under his breath.

Clearly, begging alone won't cut it. 

Sitting in a back alley, the boy considers his options. He could try and pickpocket people.

_I really don't want to break the law...but what else can I do?_

 

 

That's when he hears it.

Music.

Forgetting about his problem, he rushes towards the sound, ducking and weaving around passerbys, leaping over overturned boxes and small dogs. 

"Sorry! Sorry!" he calls, ignoring the annoyed calls behind him to watch where he's going. Nothing matters except the music. Finally, he reaches what must be the plaza, where the music is the strongest. In front of a rather large fountain, is a man is playing the guitar. Already, several people have stopped to watch the man perform. 

There's an empty guitar case in front of the musician, and the boy can see shiny coins glinting in the afternoon sunlight. 

_Maybe that's what I can do, too!_

The musician ends his song, and bows, his audience clapping and cheering. "Thank you, thank you. I'm glad to hear that you enjoyed my song. But I think that you will enjoy the next one even more." With that he starts strumming a few opening cords.

The boy watches as the crowd grows bigger and bigger. Eventually, the plaza is almost jam packed with people, all watching and listening to the music with an expression of awe on their faces. Every time the musician finishes a song, the audience cheers.

After about an hour or so later, the musician smiles, puts down his guitar. "That's all for today, I'm afraid. I shall be here tomorrow, though, bright and early."

With that announcement, most of the crowd starts to disperse, many tossing coins into the guitar case. Some approach the musician, most of them young women, all squealing and asking for an autograph. The man grins widely each time, signing his name with a flourish. 

The boy waits. 

When everyone has left, he hurries up to the man, who is placing his guitar away in the case. "Excuse me, sir? How do you get so many people to listen to you?"

The musician looks up and smiles warmly. "Good music draws people in. It's something that everyone can enjoy, regardless of age or class. That's why I play, because I want to share my music with the rest of the world."

The boy nods. "Sir, would it be alright if I performed with you tomorrow?"

"Oh? Do you have an instrument of your own?"

Looking down, the boy shakes his head. "No, but I need to go home, and I don't want to steal from anyone. Please,  _señor_ , you're my only hope."

"You know what? I'll give you the money. Consider it a gift for a fan."

"Really, thank you  _señor!_ Now I can take the train back home!"

"Here, why don't I walk you to the station?"

"Thank you!"


	3. return to sender

"Listen, kid, I need to tell you something," the musician admits as they walk along. "My reasons for helping you aren't really that selfless. Truth is, there's a discount for families. So if anyone asks, you're my son, got it?"

The boy, now dressed in a now fitting shirt and overalls ("These belonged to a cousin that used to live with me," Alberto had said when he presented the clothes) , nods seriously. "Yes, _papá_."

The man ruffles his hair. "Exactly like that! Now, I'm taking the train to Santa Cecilia, but I can-"

"That's where I'm going, too!" he interrupts quickly, not wanting to cause any more trouble. The musician's smile turns soft, almost wistful. 

"I suppose it must be fate, then, my young friend."

 

When they arrive at the train station, the boy is relieved to see a different person working at the ticket counter. The musician approaches the woman with complete confidence, a swagger in his step that hadn't been there before. "Excuse me, young lady? I would like to book two tickets to Santa Cecilia with my son, using the family discount."

The woman, who looks to be in her late forties, certainly no longer a young lady, looks up at him through a rather large pair of eyeglasses and a bored, pinched expression. "...Name?" she drawls uninterestedly.

"My name is Alberto, and this is my son...Abel. When is the next train to Santa Cecilia?"

(The name doesn't sound right, but "Abel" decides it will fit for now.) 

"The train is scheduled be here...in five minutes or so. With the discount...the amount goes down by 50%."

"That'll work. Here you go, ma'am." The man hands the ticket lady the cash with a charming grin. She, however, appears unmoved, and hands him both tickets.

"Have a nice day," she says tiredly. 

"Come on, Abel. Why don't we sit on these benches and wait for the train."

"Yes, Papa," Abel agrees, a feeling of hope slowly blossoming in his chest. 

 

"I was born in Santa Cecilia," Alberto explains as they sit together on the bench, watching the sun set over the horizon. "Earned my keep playing the guitar." Albert nudges said guitar case with his elbow, propped up on the bench. "Standard story, really, nothing to write home about. Now, I don't mean to pry, but what's your story?"

Abel swings his legs back and forth. "Dunno," he admits. "I just woke up yesterday and I knew I had to go home.  _Mi familia_ needs me."

The musician nods understandingly, eyes sympathetic. Then, his expression brightens. "You know, as a kid I was inspired by a musician that once lived in Santa Cecilia, he's the reason I took up playing the guitar in the first place-and learning this skill ended up being the reason we weren't forced to live on the streets. Music, quite literally, saved  _mi familia._ Hey, are you alright, _niño_?"

Abel stares at the ground, a lump forming on the inside of his throat, eyes beginning to burn, a wave of grief engulfing him and pulling him under.

For a second, he almost bursts into tears, but then the moment passes, and it's as though it'd never happened at all.

"I'm fine," he lies. Alberto shrugs. 

"I forgot to ask, how old are you, kid?" 

"...I dunno," Abel admits. "I woke up yesterday without any memory at all."

"Really? Well...you look around eight years old. Does that sound right?"

_Not really._

"I guess so."  
  
"Well," Alberto says, "this makes things a little more difficult. Do you think you would be able to recognize your family if you saw them?"

"Yes!"

"Well, that's good."

The two of them sit in silence until the train arrives. 


	4. as we face the setting sun

Alberto isn't quite sure what to make of the kid, who says he woke up on the side of the road (and really, that sounds like the beginning of a very interesting story indeed), with no memory of anything at all (even more interesting), but that he needs to go home. Needs to go very badly, if the fact that the boy's pressing his face against the glass, watching the scenery go by, hands tapping rhythmically on the seat, isn't giving it away.

"You know," Alberto says, "I thought I would never return to my hometown after  _mi familia_ passed away."

Abel turn to face him, eyes wide. " _Lo siento señor_ ," he says, voice quiet and subdued. Albert forces a laugh.

"...It's alright."

It isn't, but Alberto really doesn't want to talk about it with an eight year old. For as much as he loves dramatic stories, he tries his best to avoid his own.

"Umm... _señor?_ " Abel asks hesitantly, "If you don't mind me asking, why are you coming back?"

"Because the man who inspired me to become a musician is also returning, the man who taught me enough so that I could support  _mi familia._ I owe him a debt I can never pay back, and I want to show him that I did, indeed, seize my moment just as he did."

Abel's eyes widen in awe. "He must be some musician. Who is he, anyway?"

"You wouldn't believe it," Alberto says, pride rising in his chest, "but it was actually the famed musician, Ernesto De La Cruz himself!"

To his disappointment, Abel just looks at him, clearly not impressed. "I think I've heard of him..." Abel finally says, "but...I didn't think he was that good a musician. He doesn't even write his own songs."

"What do you mean by that?" Alberto cries, and Abel freezes.

" _Lo siento, Lo siento_ , I must have mistaken him for someone else." 

"Anyway," Alberto says, after an awkward silence, "this was about...fifteen years ago, back when De La Cruz was just becoming famous. I remember he had this certain charm about him, a way of inspiring people- he still does to this day.

He heard me stumble through a couple of cords, and offered to teach me how to play properly. He told me I had a real gift. And for the first time in my life, I was able to make money doing something I loved. But the money wasn't enough, so I moved to Mexico City where I thought I would make a killing. More people around, you see. But...I ended up staying for too long, and in the end, all the money I sent home wasn't enough to keep  _mi familia_ alive.  _Mi madre_ ,  _mis hermanas..._ " 

Abel's stomach twists at the end of the tale, because just thinking about Albert losing his family hurts in an aching but familiar way. It doesn't make any sense at all, but Abel knows that he let his family down. There's a lump in his throat, because he messed up and he doesn't even know how or what he did wrong, just that he needs to come home and fix everything he broke. 

Meanwhile, Alberto stares at his hands, wondering why he had decided to spill his life story to some random kid. He hadn't planned on doing so, yet everything came spilling out anyway. 

_Quick, change the subject!_

"So, you know how to play the guitar?"

The kid looks at the case, then at him. "I...think so."

Alberto's grin is now genuine as he says, "Maybe if we're lucky, we'll actually get to see Ernesto De La Cruz himself. I'm sure he'll give you a few pointers. Just don't mistake him for another person and claim he didn't write his own songs, and I think he'll be happy to show you something. I would do it myself, but I've always been a terrible teacher."

"That would be nice, I suppose." Abel twists his hands together, worrying at his lip with his top teeth. "But...I need to find someone first." 

"¿Quien?"

"...I can't remember. But I promised I would come back, I promised." Abel's voice is rising, fists clenched and face tightening. "I...promised!" he wails, "I promised!" Something shatters in the young boy's expression, tears streaming down as he cries. 

Hesitantly, Alberto places a hand on the boy's shoulder. "It's going to be okay. I'll help you."

Abel sniffles, wipes his sleeve across his nose. "Really?" 

"I promise."

"Gracias Señor."

"Eh, it's the least I can do, seeing as you got me a discount on the train fare," Alberto says, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "I wouldn't have been able to make it home on time otherwise."

"On time?"

"Don't you know? Tomorrow is El día de los Muertos. I want to get home so my family will know I haven't forgotten them. "

"¿El día de los Muertos?" Abel whispers, and Alberto ruffles the kid's hair.

"Exactly. Now do you see why I need to get home?"

"I understand,  _señor._ " And he does, because family is more important than anything else in the entire world. 


	5. tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor

_"...Really? He's coming here?"_

_"I know, right!"_

_"I bet he's even more handsome in person!"_

_"Of course you focus more on looks than talent!"_

_"Ahaha! Like you don't sleep with his picture under your pillow!"_

 

Imelda closes the windows to the store with a loud slam and a huff, cutting off the sound of two gossiping teenage girls passing by. "Of course that man would be returning," she grumbles under her breath, "but if he thinks he can get anywhere near my business he'll soon regret that he was even born!"

A soft cough comes from the doorway.

 _"¿Mamá? ¿Estás bien?_ _"_ Socorro asks, voice gentle. 

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Imelda snaps, "why do so many people keep bothering me with all these questions? Of course I'm fine."

Socorro watches her mother's stiffened back, the way her hands are still clenched around the window sill. " _Lo siento mama..."_

"And stop with all the apologizing!" Imelda cries, whirling around. Upon facing Socorro, however, her mother sighs, shoulders slumping forward. "No, no, I should be the one apologising. It's not your fault."

Crossing the room to her mother, Coco hugs her tightly. 

 _"¿Mamá?_ Would it be alright if I went for a walk? Just a short one, and I can pick up some groceries along the way."

Imelda sighs. "As long as you promise to stay away from that awful place, then yes, you may. But I will be sending your  _tios_ out if you are taking too long, and if I find you there, I will make sure that you will not leave anywhere without an escort for the rest of your life.  _¿Entender?"_

"Yes, I understand. Don't worry, I'll be back in  _treinta minutos_ or less." 

Stepping back, Imelda looks her daughter sternly in the eyes. "Twenty minutes, take it or leave it."

"Thank you!" Coco calls, spinning around and running outside, braids swinging in the air. "I'll be home soon!"

Behind her, Imelda shouts, "Don't be late!"

"I won't!" 

 

At the age of twenty years old, Socorro is still unmarried, a fact which her mother bemoans over every so often. "If that Julio doesn't propose soon, I will have to find you a suitable suitor!" she threatens, and Coco knows she isn't joking. Of course, this means she needs to get Julio to propose very soon, but she also must do so without actually asking, because her _mama_ insists that it would be desperate and uncouth of a young lady such as herself. 

The problem, Coco thinks, as she hurries along the cobblestone street, is that Julio seems to be afraid of Imelda's infamous temper, so much so that he may never ask out of fear of incurring her _mama's_ wrath.

Julio may benefit from a direct approach, she muses. 

Stopping at the edge of the plaza, she takes a moment to smooth down her skirt. Just in case, she looks every which way, just to make sure her uncles aren't anywhere near. 

The plaza is a cheerful place, full of music and laughter. But it's also a forbidden place, because music is Very Much Not Allowed, ever since...

Socorro pushes the thought away.

Although she is not allowed to be around music, she _technically_ isn't breaking any rules since she's just taking a shortcut to the marketplace, and if she wants to be back home in twenty minutes, she'll need every spare second she can get. 

And while she's sure her _mama_ would not entirely approve, Coco isn't really breaking any rules, so much so as bending them a little bit out of shape. 

But it's all for the greater good- the greater good, of course, being to help her family in any way she can.

 

"This place brings back memories," Alberto says, grip tightening around his guitar. "in fact, this is where I got my first guitar. It was in pretty good condition for something that had been tossed in the dumpster."

Standing next to Albert, Abel feels small. He still feels lost, despite the familiarity that this place brings him. "I think I remember playing here," the boy says slowly. "Wait...is that..."

It's a giant bronze statue of a man on a pedestal. Alberto grins. "Looks like they actually finished that thing. I'm glad."

"That's...De La Cruz...but..."

"I'm really glad to see his hard work get recognized, you know?" Albert says, a faint furrow in his brow. "Without him, I wouldn't be the man I am today. And now, if I'm lucky, I'll be able to tell him this myself."

Abel twists his hands together. "That's nice," he mumbles, staring up at the statue. Alberto, mistaking his look for one of awe, ruffles Abel's hair fondly.

"Now, I'm going to play a song that I wrote myself, and see if the public still like it." With that, the man picks up his guitar, looks towards Abel and says, "Would you like to listen?"

"That would be nice," Abel responds, mind elsewhere, and the two head to the center of the plaza.

Once there, Alberto begins to strum his guitar, and after a few notes, he starts to sing.

 

_"Una vez hubo una niña sin rostro._

_Y aunque pienses que estoy loco,_

_sabía que ella estaba sonriendo para mí,_

_Y supe que la amaba más que nada._

 

_Mi amor solo comía queso,_

_y ella olía muy mal._

_Desearía poder decirle,_

_pero ella estaría triste._

 

_¿Sabías que no soy humano?_

_¿Sabes que no puedo soñar?_

_Porque soy una cabra._

_Por eso, no podemos estar enamorados._

_Come mis pantalones cortos ahora mismo,_

_O mataré a toda tu familia."_

 

Stopping to tie a shoe, Socorro hears a new melody join the rest. The tune itself is sweet and soft, a contrast against the lyrics, which are...odd, to say the least. She's pretty sure she heard a line about the singer being a goat. 

As much as she would love to stay and hear more of this rather strange song, she still has to get to the market and go home in time. 

Sighing, she firmly ties the knot, stands up, and continues walking. 

Suddenly, there's a loud shout from behind her. Whirling around, she barely has enough time to see a young boy, possibly around the age of seven or eight, racing towards her, before he leaps onto her and grabs her by the middle. 

"What the-"

"I missed you, I'm sorry!" the boy wails into her shirt, sniffing loudly, and Coco stands perfectly still, having no clue what to do next. 

Luckily, a man rushes up looking frazzled. "Abel, buddy, you can't go hugging every young lady you see." To Socorro, he smiles sheepishly, saying, "I'm so sorry about that. Let me get Abel off you."

Still confused, she watches as the man grabs the boy by the back of his shirt, pulling him away.

"It's alright," the man says to her. "I've got this."

Smiling nervously, Socorro starts to hurry away, before another cry stops her in her tracks.

"Coco!"


End file.
